Cerin Amroth
by nosmaeth
Summary: She remembers, because Lórien had always been the place to remember. Even long after the Lady had sailed West and the power of the Land had faded, Lórien was still a place to remember. Even for the one who long ago had refused to live on memories.


**Cerin Amroth**

_'There never was a choice for me, meleth!'_ she whispered then and there, amidst the golden leaves and blooming elanors._ 'I did not choose to love you!_' she said, because she felt that to be the truth. She loved him, because it was impossible not to love him. He was so full of life, and love, and passion. He was so much more than any of the Eldar. Her kin, the Elves were already fading, their life slowly bending towards the West, but Undómiel still shined brightly, she desired joy and glory, she desired to be loved boundlessly, and to love without limits.  
The Eldar were remaining imprints of a former glory, mementos of a once powerful life. They were shadows of the past, and only memories kept them alive now.

But he... He was no fading memory. He was so much a part of her presence. He shined like a powerful beacon of hope; hope for a future that would be much more than bitter-sweet dreaming under peaceful, starlit skies.

He was the child of the Stars, a light that came to her on the winds of the past, but a light with a destiny; to shine for the future, to shine upon a new world. He had that power to change things, and yet preserve; to return a former glory, and yet bring about new victories and peace.  
He was the wind of change, and she was carried away...

_'There never was a choice for me, meleth. I did not choose to love you!'  
_He rested his head in her lap then, and as he gazed at her, mesmerized by her, his silver eyes were so deep, so intent, so sad...  
_'Nothing could make me more complete than these words, vanimelda!' _He run his fingers lightly along her cheeks_. 'And yet I wish with all my heart that you never spoke them. That they were not true!'_

_o.o_

She was no fool. She was not young when she fell in love, she was not deluded when she spoke her vows. She was no fool, not more at least than any other woman in love.  
But her love had power beyond that of any other woman's and so her choice, her vows held more pain and more loss as well.  
_'I am forever yours!'_

_o.o_

She did not cry when her Adar parted from her. Then, she did not cry. But as she gazed into the distance from the high peeks over the White City... Then and there, she started to feel the weight of her choice.

She knew it before, yes. But to feel it, was another thing, and nothing could prepare her for that blow. And nothing would hep her survive it, save his love; his deep, intense, caring love, and the promise of that future they were to share. A future that he brought with the winds of the West. A future that Men needed to have.

Undómiel knew she had a destiny. She knew it back in Lórien, when she first saw him clad in white and silver, looking just like the King he was; King of the Men of the West. She knew then, what her name meant.  
Her grandfather used to tell her stories of her ancestor, the fairest of her people, who gave her life to a mortal men, and with him, took the Silmaril from Melkor.  
Celeborn used to tell her what Undómiel meant, and what the evening-star was.

When she met Aragorn back in Lórien, she understood that her name was a prophecy; that she would have to share the same fate as Lúthien. And she quivered in fear then, because she desired to live, and did not wish to give up her life, and yet she could not tear her eyes off him, she could not help the power that had awakened, when their gazes met.

Love for the Eldar had always been that way; it came within a blink of an eye, but held fast for eternity.

o.o

_'There never was a choice for me, meleth!'  
_When she felt Eldarion's fea inside her, Undnómiel fully, completely understood what her name meant. It was not merely a reference to her grandfather's fate, nor did it merely honour Lúthien. It also meant that she was the evening-star of her kin, but the morning-star of his people. For the star of which she was named after, came first in the evening, but left last in the morn, bringing about the promise of light, the warmth of the new day. And she had that power, to introduce the new day, the new age of Men. They had that in common with him, the power to change. They belonged.  
_'I am forever yours.'_

_o.o_

On the door frame of their children's bedroom, small notches showed the height of the young ones. Beside the newest notch, there was the number ten, and Eldarion's name in elegant, flowing tengwar. She traced the shapes with light fingers, caressing them gently, fondly.  
_'Don't you ever wish they would not grow so fast?'_ he whispered then in her ear as he embraced her from behind. _'Don't you ever wish I were an Eldar like you, and they were to have eternity to grow?'_

She smiled a slow, sad smile. Even now, when they were long past the point of no return, he still acted as if he received a gift that he did not deserve. Sometimes he still feared, she might have doubts. At times like this, he was like a young boy in awe, so unlike the strong, confident warrior-king he was otherwise. It was impossible not to love him for this feature of child-like innocence.

_'I do wish sometimes that they wouldn't grow so fast. But nay, I never wished for you to be an Eldar. I fell in love with a mortal man, you see.'  
_He chuckled then, but his arms encircled her frame and held her closer still; his grip tightened. It did not change much, but enough for her to feel, enough to convey the message he did not speak out loud. Words were sometimes unnecessary tools.

o.o

She lay amidst the fading elanors now, and listened as the calm, gentle evening-breeze toyed with the withered mallorn leaves. Echo of fading laughter played in her mind, laughter of children and the noise of small, hurrying feet. A silver leaf floated down in front of her eyes.  
_'I did not choose to fall in love.'_

And in the end, no matter how much in love she was, memories would still fade. For her, there would be no bitter-sweet gazing at starlit evening-skies, no memories to hold onto.  
No peaceful mourning of past deeds.

_'There was never a choice for me, meleth!'_

A single, silver tear rolled from her eyes and the wind whispered in her ears:  
_'Arwen, vanimelda, namarie!'_

* * *

_I am afraid, this is only understandable for those who'd read the Appendices... _


End file.
